All The Comforts Of Home
by sadlady
Summary: Bodie's in Berkshire, Doyle's in hospital missing out on the comforts of home


Usual Disclaimer

I don't own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.

I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.

ALL THE COMFORTS OF HOME

Doyle was bored out of his skull: the enforced rest caused by the thugs who broke his wrist and ribs with a crowbar, was beginning to pall. It wasn't so much the discomfort and ache of the mending bones, but the reliance on others and his inability to do even the smallest thing for himself.

"I can just about manage to wipe my own arse," he complained bitterly to Bodie, who sat with his feet on the bed, munching his way through the pack of digestives he had bought along.

Bodie nodded sagely, all the while scattering crumbs across a wide area.

"Hey . . . don't I get a look in on me own biscuits?" Doyle looked accusingly at his friend.

"You wouldn't find yer gob through that beard sunshine," he replied, pushing the last of the crunchy biscuits in his mouth.

"That's another thing . . . .I can't shave properly. Hurts m' hand! Cut meself tryin' a few days ago. Easier to let it grow," Doyle stroked his bewhiskered chin with his good hand.

"Very piratical mate. All you need is an eye patch to complete the disguise." Bodie obviously thought the situation was not as dire as Doyle made it out to be.

The visitors' bell rang, and Bodie swung his legs off the bed and stood up, scattering yet more crumbs onto the sheet.

"You, Doyle, don't appreciate the finer points to being detained by the NHS. Good, plentiful food, pretty nurses, a rest from work, and me to pop in and keep you company."

"Oh . . . go 'ome," was the irritable retort.

The evening didn't improve, and by nine o clock Doyle was ready to pull his own teeth out just for something to do.

He was pleasantly surprised when the door opened, and Betty walked in.

"Hello love," he said warmly. "Didn't expect to see you, especially this late at night."

"Special privileges for CI5 staff," she said, laughing. "Bodie dropped in and said you were ready for the funny farm, so Mr Cowley pulled a few strings and got you extended visiting while you're here. I had a spare couple of hours so I thought I'd pop in. Like the beard," she added.

Doyle grimaced. "I hate it! It's itchy and it's got some grey in it! I'm only in my thirties too!"

Betty laughed at his woebegone look.

"That's what working with Bodie does for you," she replied.

Doyle managed to look even more pathetic, and replied.

"Seriously though love, it's uncomfortable and I don't suit facial fuzz. Be glad when I can get 'ome and shave meself properly."

Betty gave a sympathetic nod.

"Won't be long, Ray. You're healing well. The wrist injury was the problem. I heard the doctor say it was lucky there won't be any lasting damage. Mr Macklin will make sure you get up to par."

Doyle grimaced slightly at the thought of Macklin and the fiendish exercises the CI5 trainer might devise for him on his return.

Betty spent another hour with Doyle, chatting and regaling him with stories of his colleagues. The young agent seemed in better spirits as she got up to leave. She kissed him lightly on his cheek, and watched as he slithered under the sheet, the plaster cast heavy and cumbersome on his arm.

A week later, Doyle was discharged from hospital. The cast had been removed, and he had begun to have physiotherapy on his wrist. Being Doyle, he had dedicated himself to the exercises, spending most of his waking hours performing the repetitive movements needed to rebuild the strength he'd lost. He had ignored the advice from the staff that he should take things slowly, and unlocking the door to his flat, he felt drained and weary.

As he closed the door, his senses sharpened. The flat smelt clean and fresh. Not the smell he would have expected from a place that had been closed up for some weeks. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor. Creeping down the hall, he prayed his instinct was wrong, and that he was alone. As he drew nearer the living room, he noticed a sliver of light from under the closed door.

Doyle swore quietly. He had no R/T, no weapon and was less than 100% fit. There was no way he could deal with intruders. He backed up the hall towards the front door. Before he could reach it, the living room door opened and Sally walked out.

"Sal! You had me worried for a minute there. What are you doin'?"

"Ray! I thought I heard the door open. Welcome home love." She hugged him warmly. "Come on, it's getting on a bit. I wondered if they'd decided to keep you in another day." She smiled at him and continued.

"Betty told me you were a bit down, and Bodie's stuck somewhere in Berkshire with Anson. I was off today, so I thought I'd pop round and freshen the place up a bit. Didn't want you coming home to an empty flat. I've got some food in too."

For the next couple of hours, they chatted about books, films and art. Doyle and Sally had similar tastes, and occasionally went out together. Their friendship was warm and platonic, and neither had considered taking it any further.

"You look odd with that beard," Sally remarked. "I'm not sure if it really suits you."

Doyle sighed heavily.

"Whether it does or not, it's coming off as soon as my bloody wrist stops aching. I'm doin' all the physio, but it's taking time. Don't seem to have any strength in it."

Sally looked at him thoughtlfully. She got up and went to the kitchen, returning with another bottle of wine. She removed the cork, and refilled Doyle's glass.

"Tryin' to get me drunk?" he said forlornly "It's about time someone had their wicked way with me! I've been stuck in hospital for nearly three weeks, without the comforts of 'ome!"

Sally grinned at his expression. Then she got up abruptly, as if she'd come to a decision.

"OK Ray. Let's see what we can do to improve your life," she said. She got up and disappeared down the hall.

Doyle sat there nonplussed. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he sensed a subtle change in the dynamics between them.

Five minutes later, Sally reappeared. Doyle stared hard, not quite trusting his eyes. She had changed into one of his old shirts, which on a woman of her height, was barely decent. She was carrying a bowl of hot water, a towel and his shaving kit.

She caught sight of his expression and laughed.

"Didn't want to get my new jeans wet," she said by way of explanation.

She set out the bowl, towel and kit on the coffee table, and then gently pushed Doyle back against the the sofa. With effortless grace, she straddled him, and slowly undid his shirt. She pushed the cotton away from his shoulders, and placed the towel on his chest. Then she began to lather up his beard.

Her hands worked the soap deep into the bristles. Doyle closed his eyes, trying to fathom out how this had happened. Sally's fingers caressed his face and neck, never stopping the stroking and kneading. Reaching across for the razor, she lightly drew the instrument through Doyle's beard, careful not to nick his skin. She rinsed the razor and continued to gently scrape away the weeks of growth, working her way around his chin, taking particular care around his mouth. She worked silently and with the lightest of touches.

She got up to change the soapy water, leaving Doyle, eyes closed, sprawled on the sofa. She returned and resumed her ministrations, again straddling his body.

"Ray," she murmured, while she carefully shaved his top lip, "you've got a hard on!"

"Mmm," agreed Doyle sleepily. "I have. Not my fault either. Don't let it stop you from what you're doing . . . and careful with that razor," he added.

Sally laughed quietly, and with a final stroke, completed the removal of the offending facial hair. She reached across for a bottle of aftershave, and applied some of the fragrance to Doyle's clean face.

She cleared away the bowl and shaving kit and returned to the living room, carrying another bottle of wine. Doyle pushed himself up from the sofa, and reached for his glass. Sally sat down next to him, and cupped his face in her hand, surveying her handiwork.

He caught her wrist and drew her towards him. He slipped his hand around her neck and kissed her full on the mouth. Neither of them said a word, as Sally responded, breathing in the spicy perfume of Doyle's aftershave. She put her head on his shoulder and idly traced a finger through his chest hair.

"Sal, what are we doin'?" he asked thickly.

"I'm not sure Ray. It just seems right." She pulled away and looked him straight in the eye.

"Whatever we do now, it won't affect how we work or our friendship."

Doyle opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, Sally put a finger on his lips.

"Doyle, let's just go to bed and enjoy each other. I'm not looking for anything other than a fuck. If that offends you I'm sorry, but we've always been honest with each other. I'm not looking for love or security tonight. . . just some fun and affection with a good friend."

Doyle said nothing, but his green eyes held her gaze steadily. Making up his mind, he rose up and taking Sally's hand, he led her into his bedroom.

She slipped Doyle's shirt from her shoulders, and drew him towards her. She was naked underneath and Doyle was rewarded with the sight of her toned and healthy body. He cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs across her nipples. She sucked in her breath, her tongue playing over her bottom lip. She pushed Doyle's shirt off his shoulders, and trailed her fingers down his chest staying the movement when she reached his belt buckle.

Doyle needed no further encouragement. Helped by Sally, he undid the zip and shimmied out of his jeans. Sally took a step back and looked at him. The enforced rest in hospital had paid unexpected dividends. He had slept well, unhindered by early morning call outs, and freed from the stress of his job he was more relaxed and rested. His body was muscled and hard, even the bruising around his ribs had all but disappeared. She gave a small sigh before moving in and fastening her mouth to Doyle's. They kissed slowly and deeply, moulding their bodies together.

Doyle finally broke away, and pulled Sally towards the bed. They lay side by side, hands touching and exploring each other. Neither wanted to rush things, knowing that this would probably be a one-off union.

Doyle lay back, enjoying the sensation of Sally's tongue lapping gently down his belly. In one smooth movement, she swung her legs across his hips. Doyle felt her slip down onto his cock, and slowly begin to move around on him. He placed his hands at her waist, and began to thrust into her.

Sally allowed Doyle to control the situation almost until he climaxed. Then she stopped all movement, resulting in strangled cry from him.

"Sal! Don't stop! Please!"

She gave a throaty laugh and rolled off the recumbent man.

"I'm not that easy Ray! You have to work for this."

She stood up smartly, pulling Doyle to his feet. Together they fell against the window ledge. Leaning against the sill, Sally put her arms round his neck and her legs around his hips.

They were well matched – Sally was almost as tall as Doyle, and standing together locked at hip and lip and rocking gently, it took little time before he was once again near to climax. Sally watched as Doyle, all ragged breath and eyes tightly shut, began moan incoherently to himself.

She tapped him sharply on the shoulder, breaking his concentration and mood.

"Fucking hell Sal! What are you tryin' to do to me?" he demanded.

She gazed into his eyes, and noted with satisfaction the look of sexual hunger on his face.

"Bed!" she ordered.

Doyle shuffled the short distance to his bed, hampered by her body wrapped tightly around his, and his aching wrist.

Reaching the bed, he almost fell on it. '_Good move_,' he thought, as Sally now lay pinned beneath him. She grinned up at him, content now to let him finish. The broad smile that crossed his face left her in no doubt there would be no further games.

There were no distractions this time. The earlier antics had added a frisson to their love making; Doyle, not quite sure if Sally would allow him any release, made sure she was as much a part of his body as he could manage. Sally, content this time to let him take control, gave herself to him fully.

Their resultant climax was noisy, physical and exultant. They both fell apart, panting and laughing.

"Bloody hell Ray, you _are_ good . . . and a shouter," Sally exclaimed.

Doyle tried to look modest and and almost pulled it off!

"Er, well it depends," he said. "Need a good woman to bring out the best in me!"

Sally playfully punched his chest.

"Yeah. Of course you do!" she replied.

They chatted into the early hours of the morning, entwined and warm in Doyle's bed. Eventually both fell asleep, sated and at ease with each other.

A week later, Doyle was pronouced fully fit by Macklin. His wrist had mended perfectly, and he was raring to get back to work. He bounced into the squadroom, full of vim and vigor and good humour.

Bodie, back from a protracted stay in Berkshire, eyed his partner up and down. '_There's something different about the little toerag' _he thought, '_something rather chipper about him.'_ He sidled over to Doyle on the pretence of making tea.

"You're far too bright eyed for someone who nearly lost the use of their arm," he said. "Do tell what you've been up to."

Doyle smiled and tapped the side of his nose.

"That, mate is for me to know and you wonder about," he answered.

"Oh well," said Bodie airily. "Keep your little secret to yourself sunshine. By the way, there are some very classy birds in Berkshire you know. Lots of money and legs that go on forever! Can't have been much fun stuck at home. Shame you missed out."

Doyle gave his most irritating smirk. Just as he was about to answer, Sally strode into the room.

"Will . . . you're back. How was Berkshire? How was Anson?" She walked over to the two agents, and kissed both of them on the cheek. "Get me a tea Will, please."

"Glad you're back too Doyle! Missed you!" She gave him a broad wink, a gesture completely missed by Bodie, who was busy spooning sugar into a large mug. He turned round and eyed the cool blonde appreciatively.

"Sal, you look like the cat that got the cream," he remarked. "Shame poor old Doyle's been stuck on his tod for a while. We should take him out . . . introduce him back into society!"

Doyle lounged against the wall, and stared at his friends.

"Nah. I'm OK thanks. It wasn't so bad. Nice rest, read some books, played some chess . . . rearranged me record collection."

Bodie sniffed.

"Oh all the comforts of home then!" he said sarkily.

Doyle gave the mysterious Doyle smile.

"Oh yes mate. Definitely all the comforts of home," he replied.


End file.
